You're Not Alone
by NobdyPtclr
Summary: After Asylum, Dean and Sam receive another text message from their father, sending them on another hunt before they've recovered from his last assignment.
1. After the Asylum

**You're Not Alone**

**By Nobdyptclr**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Bummer.**

**A/N: This follows closely after Asylum and will also touch on the events from the episode "Home." For those who read my story "The Proud Father," yes, Missouri will be back in this one. For those who haven't read it, feel free, but I don't think you'll need it if you don't.**

After four nights the walls of the motel room seemed to be closing in, and the mattress seemed lumpier by the minute. Sam squinted past the empty bed next to him and caught a glimpse of the sun rising through a slit in the curtains. It didn't surprise him that the bed was empty. It had been four days since the asylum and Dean was still recovering, but he wasn't about to admit it. In fact, his big brother had been all for moving on the next day until Sam had changed tactics in his argument and complained of exhaustion and asked to stay a little longer. As usual Dean showed no concern for himself, but would bend over backward if Sam's health was in question.

Sam smirked at his brother, who was currently dozing off in a chair in the corner of the room. After spending the first night in bed, Dean had moved to the chair, claiming that he could breathe easier sitting up, but Sam suspected that his position had more to do with his reflexes being slowed by his injuries. Sam's smile fell away as he watched his brother sleep in the chair with a shotgun across his lap. Even with his bruised and cracked ribs Dean still insisted on being the protector.

Pushing away a pang of guilt, Sam slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom for a quick shower. They had spoken about the events in the asylum – as much as they did about anything – and Dean had assured him that it was not his fault. Things seemed to be back to normal between them, but this didn't prevent Sam from blaming himself when he saw his brother's stiff posture and the dark circles under his eyes. He'd tried to convince Dean that he could keep watch, had offered to take the bed closest to the door, but Dean had laughed and waved him off, insisting that Sam needed the rest more than he did.

Stepping under the hot water, Sam tried to push all thoughts out of his head. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but as the hot water ran out he toweled off and walked back into the room to find clothes. He was relieved to see that Dean – who normally woke at the smallest sound - was still sleeping in the chair.

One perk of staying in the same place for more than a couple days was the free time to spend at the laundromat. A drawback, especially in a small town, was the limited options for food. As he threw on clean jeans and a T-shirt, Sam decided on the diner over the bakery. More nourishment would help his brother heal faster. He reached for his wallet on the table next to Dean, but jumped back, startled, when he saw his brother's eyes were open.

Dean smirked, "Going someplace?" Moving gingerly, he slid the shot gun onto the floor watching Sam pause to let his heart beat return to normal.

"Don't do that! Do you have any idea how freaky that is?" Without thinking, Sam swung at his brother's head and was relieved when Dean blocked him easily. "Feeling better, huh?"

"Getting there." Dean eased himself to his feet and started toward the bathroom.

Sam noted that his movements were still a little slow, but the pain was obviously not as bad, and barely showed in his face. He sighed, shaking his head. It was frustrating to try to guess at his brother's pain but, after all, this was the same idiot who had walked around on a broken ankle for three days when he was fourteen, because he didn't want to burden their father during a hunt. When Sam finally broke his promise and told their father, Dean hadn't spoken to him for two weeks.

"Ah, fond childhood memories," Sam thought to himself wryly, tracking his brother's progress across the room. The normal spring was still missing from his step, but at least Dean was moving a little less like an old man. "Hey man, I was going to the diner," he called after him. "You want me to bring you back something or should I wait for you to come with?"

Dean paused in the doorway. "Just bring me back something. I want to grab a shower." He disappeared into the bathroom, but his voice drifted out behind him. "You better not've used all the hot water."

Sam smiled to himself and ducked out of the room without answering.

Dean sighed in relief when he heard the outside door click shut. The physical pain of his injuries he could handle – hell, it wasn't like this was the first time his ribs had been broken – but seeing the guilt and the tentativeness on Sam's face was killing him. He knew that Sam hadn't shot him on purpose; he knew that his brother wouldn't intentionally kill him. So let's move on already. Rehashing the incident over and over just made it hurt more.

Based on the amount of time that Sam had spent in the bathroom, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find the water was warm, almost hot. He soaped up quickly, then spent a few extra minutes just letting it wash over the marks on his chest. The wounds had scabbed up nicely and, as he toweled off, he was contemplating leaving the bandages off when he heard his cell phone ringing in the other room. Wrapping the towel around his waist he hurried to answer it.

"Hello?" When no one answered, Dean was tempted to throw the phone across the room. Sometimes technology really sucked. Instead he looked down at the display and saw a text message. Coordinates again, 39.602N -95.718W. Dean felt hurt wash over him. Was that all their father had to offer? He obviously didn't want to talk to them – if he was able to send them numbers there was nothing stopping him from sending words. Or how about picking up the phone and calling? Dean pushed his feelings aside with the ease of much practice and moved to the table to boot up the laptop. Might as well find out where they would be headed. While he was waiting for the computer, Dean pulled on his pants and dug through his bag for a shirt. When the doorknob rattled he paused for a minute with his hand on the shot gun, but relaxed as Sam walked in.

Dean watched Sam's grimace as his eyes were drawn to the bruises and scabs on his chest. His baby brother quickly looked away, taking in the laptop and the expression on his face before asking, "What's going on?"

Dean tossed the cell phone to him and pulled his shirt over his head quickly. "Looks like Dad called again." He struggled to keep his voice neutral.

"Dean, you're not ready to hunt again yet. You're still hurt and you're not sleeping. We need to stay here at least a few more days," Sam told him, using that reasonable voice of his that always made Dean feel like he was being patronizing.

"Sammy, I was ready three days ago. We're still here because you needed the rest." Actually, Dean was grateful that Sam had insisted on staying. He knew that he had been in no condition to drive during those first couple days, but he wasn't about to admit that he'd been in pain, and his gratitude wouldn't stop him from throwing his brother's words back in his face.

"Dean," Sam was starting to get pissed now, "you can't seriously be planning to chase down another set of coordinates on Dad's say-so. His last little assignment almost got you killed! And how do we know they're from Dad anyway?"

Dean hesitated for a moment. He almost wanted to believe that the coordinates weren't from their father. He wanted to agree with Sam and reassure them both that their father wouldn't limit his communications to a set of numbers. But in the end he knew better. "You know this fits Dad's MO. All business – nothing but the hunt." He reached out to touch his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, we don't have a choice. We've got no other leads, no place else to look. Either we do what he wants or we take the chance that we lose even this much communication."

Sam looked at his brother desperately, "We could wait a few more days until you're all healed up. So what if we miss him there. We'll find another way…" Sam's voice trailed off, and he suddenly shook his head. "No. Knowing that bastard, he'll stop even texting if he doesn't get what he wants," he paused and took a deep breath. "Fine. You call it."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the pull of the scabs on his chest. "Get on the laptop and see where he's sending us. I'll pack us up," he instructed as he moved toward their bags.

"Sit down and eat first. I'll help you pack after breakfast." Sam didn't bother to look up from the computer as he kicked a chair out for his brother to join him at the table.

Dean had only taken a few bites of his pancakes when he felt Sam's eyes on him. "What?" he asked self-consciously, "Did I get syrup on me?" he swiped at the side of his mouth, but stopped abruptly when it didn't earn as much as a smirk from his brother. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam seemed reluctant to maintain eye contact. "It's just…I mean…" he couldn't seem to complete the sentence.

"Spit it out already. What? He's sending us to the Bermuda Triangle?" Dean joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam shook his head, staring at the screen in front of him, studiously avoiding eye contact. "No, Dean, he's sending us back to Kansas."

**TBC**


	2. A Demon From the Past

**Title: You're Not Alone**

**Author: Nobdyptclr**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Work is crazy, but I promise at least one update a week.**

Chapter 2: A Demon From the Past

When Dean didn't react right away, Sam looked up from the laptop. His brother's face was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Dean's mouth worked for a few seconds before he was able to force the words out, "Home again?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "No. Not Lawrence this time." He drew back involuntarily when Dean hauled himself to his feet and rounded the table, scowling.

"What's the big deal then Sammy? Drama queen much?" The smack to the back of his head felt a little harder than necessary and Sam stood and moved away as Dean leaned over his shoulder to look at the laptop.

"It's not Lawrence, but it's still a big deal," Sam responded, as he began packing his bag. "It's Netawaka." Giving up any pretense of calm, he threw his clothes into the bag and angrily pulled the zipper closed. He didn't realize that he was alone in the room until he heard the click of the door closing.

Hesitantly, Sam moved toward the door, but settled on the window instead. He knew Dean would resent any offers of comfort, but he also knew beyond a doubt that his brother was remembering their last trip to Netawaka and once again shouldering guilt that shouldn't have been his. Moving the curtain aside, he watched as Dean stood motionless by his car for a moment, then laid his head on one arm resting on the roof. His other arm came up to cradle his injured ribs.

A small part of him wanted to rush to Dean's side – welcome or not – but the larger part of him was shaken by his brother's behavior. He understood his reaction, was feeling the same shock, with a healthy mix of fear and foreboding thrown in, but Sam was uncertain how to deal with it. He was so used to having Dean provide answers and comfort in these situations that he was at a loss without him. Sam laughed at himself without humor. Before the asylum, he would have gone to Dean without thought and asked him what they should do. Now he felt like – with all the complaints about his bossy brother – he'd given up that right. Sam moved away from the window and resumed his furious packing; stuffing Dean's belongings into his bag as old memories came rushing back.

_Sammy was seven the first time the Winchesters visited Netawaka. By that point in his life he was used to their nomadic lifestyle and had a vague understanding that when his father left him alone with Dean at night it was because he was hunting bad monsters. His father was distant and sometimes scary, but Dean told him it was because Dad had an important job – like a super hero. Dean, at eleven, was his father-figure and his best friend, and Sammy viewed him with the hero-worship that is always reserved for big brothers._

_Netawaka was a small town in Kansas and Dean had told him that they were only about an hour from their home town. When Sammy asked Dad if they were going home he'd gotten mad and yelled at Dean for "filling your brother's head with dreams and nonsense." Dean just stared at Dad with dry eyes and no expression on his face, but Sammy had cried for him. When his father threw his hands in the air and stalked out of the room, Sammy cried even harder. He felt Dean's arms come around him and turned to bury his face in his big brother's shoulder. _

"_It's okay, Sammy," Dean consoled him. "Dad didn't mean it. He's just stressed 'cause he's going after the demon tonight."_

_Sammy sniffed loudly, burrowing deeper into the comfort of his brother's arms. "He doesn't like me."_

"_Of course he does," Dean sighed, covering familiar ground. "He loves you. He just gets busy chasing monsters and rescuing people. But that's why you have me. We'll always be together, Sammy, and I'll always take care of you."_

"_Tyler's dad is never mean to him," Sammy told his brother, refusing to let it go._

"_Tyler's dad isn't a hero," Dean pointed out, "and he doesn't have a big brother to look out for him."_

"_Okay," Sammy accepted this without further comment, as only a seven year-old can. "Can we go out back and play?"_

_Dean sighed again, shaking his head. "You know Dad said we have to stay inside so people don't see us." They were illegally squatting in the house of a victim's family. The family had been so shaken by their loss that they had left town to stay with relatives. While the nearest neighbor was some distance away, their father had instructed them not to take any chances. "Besides," he added, "he said that this monster goes after kids." Dean frowned at him as he started to pout. "Come on Sammy, knock it off. Let's check out the house and see if we can find any games."_

_Sammy immediately stopped sulking and ran to help his big brother. He didn't want Dean to think he was a baby. Within twenty minutes both boys were on the floor of an upstairs bedroom running Matchbox cars around a racetrack. It was here that their father found them some time later._

_Sammy wasn't aware of their father watching them from the doorway. He was happily making engine sounds as he pushed his car around, and didn't look up until he realized that dean had gone still beside him._

"_Boys, I need to speak to you." Dad stepped into the room and perched on the edge of the small bed. "Dean, I'm going to need your help tonight which means, Sam, I need you to be a big boy and take care of yourself while we're gone."_

_Sammy hung his head, even as his brother's eyes lit up with excitement. "But Dad," he said in a low voice, "I want to help too."_

_I know you do, Sam," was the patient answer, "but we've talked about this before. This is not a game. It's dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt. You remember what we talked about – no hunting till you're ten."_

"_But you took Dean before he was ten." Sammy glanced at his big brother and saw that horrible blank look Dean got whenever their father was unhappy with one of them. He didn't like to use Dean this way, but it just wasn't fair. "And I know how to use a gun now. I shot at the closet monster," he added with pride in his voice."_

"_Sam," there was a note of impatience in Dad's voice now, "we've covered this before. Sometimes there was no choice but to have Dean help. Right now there is a choice and that means you stay here, inside the house." He rose from the bed and beckoned to Dean. "You come with me now so we can get ready." Their father walked out the door and Dean followed with only a quick backward glance before leaving Sammy alone._

_By the time Dean returned Sammy had worked his way through a tantrum and was asleep on the floor with tear tracks drying on his cheeks. He woke reluctantly as Dean shook him._

"_Sammy, wake up! Come on, I have to leave soon!"_

_Sam looked up at his brother then around the room in confusion, trying to remember where they were. After a few seconds everything clicked into place._

"_Dean, I don't want you to go. What if something bad happens to you?"_

"_Don't worry, Sammy," Dean's face glowed with excitement. "I'm just going to be bait. When the demon shows up Dad jumps out of the bushes and cuts its head off and we come home. Simple as that."_

"_But what if it gets you before Dad kills it?"_

_Dean put an arm around Sammy's shoulders. "I'm going to be inside a magic circle so it can't touch me." He led his little brother to the window and pointed across the street. "See that clearing? I'm going to sit there and Dad'll be back in the trees so the demon can't sense him. You can watch the whole thing from here, just don't tell Dad."_

_Sam stayed nestled under his brother's arm until their father called from downstairs._

"_Sammy, I have to go. You have to stay in this room, okay? And keep the door shut." Dean shut the door loudly behind him and Sammy was alone again._

_Sammy watched from the window as his brother sat cross-legged in the clearing with his handgun on his lap. Their father made a circle in the grass around him, then disappeared into the woods. Sammy wasn't sure how long he stayed at the window, running his matchbox car back and forth on the windowsill and staring across the street, but dusk had turned to darkness when he realized that he could barely see his big brother at all in the faint glow of the streetlight. He realized that he was hungry and Dad had forgotten dinner again. This was not unusual, but this time Dean had forgotten too. The rare feeling of disappointment in his big brother enabled Sammy to open the door and go down to the kitchen without thought to Dean's instructions._

_Pulling the stool over, Sammy tucked his toy car in his pocket and climbed up on the counter for some cookies. With his hands full he walked back to the front of the house and peeked out the living room window. He could just about see his brother in the dim light, but the reflection of the kitchen light on the window was distracting. With his only thought to check and make sure his big brother was okay, Sammy crossed to the front door and walked out onto the steps. Finally he had a clear view of Dean, and he settled on the bottom step, pulling his car out of his pocket to push it around as he gazed across the street. He met Dean's eyes and saw them widen in fear as he shook his head at him. Suddenly his eyes shifted away to Sammy's right and then Dean was standing and shouting at him._

"_Sammy no! Run!"_

_Instead of turning to the immediate safety of the house, Sammy ran toward the certain protection of his big brother, not even pausing to look for what he was running from. He was almost across the street when he felt something sharp scratch down his back. Losing his balance, he fell to the ground and rolled away onto the shoulder of the road. Looking up, Sammy's seven year-old mind had an impression of a giant made of teeth and claws, towering over him. He shrank away in terror and then there were gunshots and suddenly Dean was there in between him and the monster, protecting him. His big brother emptied his gun into the demon, and then threw the empty weapon at its head. He turned and tried to pull Sammy to his feet._

"_Get up Sammy!" Dean screamed in his ear. "Get up and run!"_

_As he struggled to rise, Dean was suddenly ripped away from him. Sammy turned to see the monster lift his struggling brother to its mouth as if he were a drumstick. It was too much. Sammy closed his eyes and turned away. One arm curled around his head for protection, the other stayed close to his side as his thumb found its was into his mouth. When Dean screamed in pain, Sammy cringed away and tightened his body into a little ball. The scream stopped abruptly and he felt something hit the ground beside him, but Sammy didn't look until he heard his father's voice._

"_Dean! Sam!" Sammy had never heard fear in his father's voice before and this sparked him to open his eyes. Dean was on the ground next to him, and Dad was standing a few feet away, sword still in his hand, with the decapitated demon on the ground at his feet._

"_Daddy?" Sammy sniffled as his tears began to fall. Dean's eyes were closed and he was not moving. His father rushed to his side and knelt, throwing an arm around him even as he checked for Dean's pulse._

"_Sammy, are you hurt?" Dad's eyes didn't leave Dean, but Sammy found comfort in his father's rare embrace._

"_The monster scratched my back, Daddy." Sam choked back his tears as best he could, knowing that they would make his father impatient. The scratches burned a little, but the pain couldn't compete with his fear for his brother. "Daddy, is Dean okay?"_

"_He'll be fine, Sam," his father replied, and his voice was reassuring. The fear was gone, replaced by his usual businesslike tone. "He has a bad bite on his shoulder and he got the wind knocked out of him. He should wake up any minute now."_

_Sure enough, as if he'd heard his father's words and interpreted them as a command, Dean opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. "Is Sammy okay?" he asked frantically._

_Sam watched their father hold Dean down with one hand, checking his bite with the other. "Sam is going to be fine, Dean," Dad reassured, his tone hardening. "No thanks to you." He didn't notice the hurt and guilt on his son's face as he continued, "I told you to lock your brother in the room, just like I've told you so many times that he needs to understand the danger that we're all facing. But you've insisted on coddling him and protecting him, and I've let you do it. Well, it's all going to stop now. Now you've disobeyed my order to lock the door, and look where that got us," he shook his head in disgust. "Congratulations. You almost got your brother killed." Turning to Sam, he tossed over his shoulder, "Just lay there while I check your brother. I'll stitch that bite up when we get inside."_

_Despite the anger in his voice, his hands were gentle on Sammy's back, and he determined that the scratches weren't deep enough to require stitches. "These will hurt for a couple of days, but when they heal you'll have some pretty cool scars." Dad's voice was gentler, and the thought of scars was exciting to the seven year-old, helping to calm him down. He looked to his big brother for a reaction and was shocked to see Dean lying on his side looking back at him with tears running off his face into the dirt. Dean's eyes closed, and when he opened them again the tears were gone as if they'd never existed._

"_Dad?" Dean asked tentatively for attention._

"_What, Dean," their father snapped impatiently._

"_I'm sorry I disobeyed," Dean told him. "It's just, what if there was a fire, like with…" Dean choked on his words and for a minute Sammy thought he wouldn't be able to finish. "…with Mom," Dean managed. "I didn't want Sammy to be trapped and I wouldn't be there to save him."_

_Sammy watched the grief cross his father's face, but he didn't really understand it. Dad stood up and took Dean into his arms to carry him across the street. "Come on Sam. Let's get you boys patched up."_

Sam realized he had finished the packing and was standing aimlessly in the middle of the room. He shook off the pain and guilt that the memory had brought back as he heard the doorknob turn. He met Dean's eyes as he walked in. They were bloodshot and a little red, but not so much that someone who didn't know him would be able to tell he was upset. Unfortunately for Dean, Sam knew him well. He'd half hoped that Dean would change his mind about following the coordinates, but he recognized the determination in his eyes.

"Dean," he tried tentatively, "you know it was my fault last time. I was little and I didn't understand. I didn't listen to you."

Dean cut him off. "You didn't understand because of me. I wouldn't let Dad talk to you. I didn't want you to be scared."

"Listen, let's just forget the finger-pointing. It'll be different now. We're both adults and we watch out for each other."

"Sammy, thanks to me that thing almost killed you. I'm not going to just let it go." Dean stomped away to look out the window.

"And thanks to my stupidity it almost ate you," Sam retorted. "But Dean, we don't even know that it's the same thing. Dad killed that demon fifteen years ago. We're probably dealing with a completely different entity. Now, give me the keys and pack up the laptop while I load the car. If you're sure we should do this we should get going and get there before dark."

Sam smiled as Dean tossed him the keys. He had already checked them out and was settled into the driver's seat when Dean came out of the room. He felt a pang of concern when his brother slid into the passenger seat without comment, laying his head back and closing his eyes, but Sam resolutely turned the key and eased the car out onto the highway.

TBC


	3. The Road to Netawaka

**Title: The Road to Netawaka**

**Author: Nobdyptclr**

**A/N: No offense intended to anyone who has been to or lives in Netawaka. I haven't been there, but it has a cool name and is close enough to Lawrence to work for this story.**

_In his dream Dean was eleven again, reliving the events of that night in Netawaka. His father's angry words were echoing in his ears then suddenly the clearing was gone and he was lying on his back in the asylum, pain exploding through his chest. Seven year-old Sam stood over him, pointing a gun at his head. Somehow Dean knew that this time the bullets would be real._

"_It's all your fault, Dean. It's always been your fault," Sam hissed. "You can't protect me; you never could."_

"_I'm sorry, Sammy," he gasped around the pain, closing his eyes for a second before resolutely meeting his baby brother's eyes. "I'm sorry for everything."_

_Sam grinned maniacally as his finger squeezed the trigger._

Dean jerked upright, gasping for breath. One hand went to his chest and he looked around wildly as the remnants of the dream fell away but the physical pain lingered. Feeling Sam's eyes on him, he forced himself to calm down, taking comfort from the familiar feel of his car around him.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, taking his eyes of the road for a second to glance over.

Not trusting his voice, Dean nodded in response. He watched Sammy maneuver the car through traffic as his heartbeat returned to normal. "Where are we?" he asked, half out of curiosity and half to distract his brother.

"Just past Des Moines. You've been out for hours. You hungry?"

Dean relaxed in his seat. Obviously Sammy could take a hint. "I could eat."

Sam nodded and quickly merged to the right. "Sign said there's a diner this exit." As he turned off the highway and stopped at the traffic light at the end of the off-ramp, he turned and looked at Dean. "What were you dreaming about?"

Dean sighed, not quite able to meet his brother's eyes. "It was nothing."

Sam stared at him, scowling, until an angry driver's horn brought his attention back to the road. He signaled and turned, muttering, "It didn't sound like nothing."

Dean felt momentary panic – _did he talk in his sleep?_ – before dismissing his brother's concern. "Well, it wasn't anything worth talking about." He half-turned to look out the window, his body language indicating that the conversation was over. Too bad Sammy couldn't take a hint.

"Dean, I really think you should talk about it. Was it about Netawaka?" Guilt crossed Sam's face, "Or was it the asylum?"

"Sam, I don't want to talk about it!" Dean snapped, turning to glare at his brother.

Sam turned in to the parking lot and chose a space close to the diner's entrance. Shutting off the engine, he twisted in his seat until they were face to face. "Dean," he began.

"Take a hint already! Or better still," Dean smirked. "How does the saying go? You show me yours and I'll show you mine," he laughed mirthlessly. "How 'bout it, Sammy, you ready to talk about what's going on in your head while you're sleeping?" He watched as Sam's lips thinned into a frown and a closed expression shuttered his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean snarled, climbing out of the car. It took all his willpower not to slam the door behind him.

Stalking into the diner, Dean didn't bother to look back. He chose a booth and wasn't surprised when Sam slid in across from him with an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," Sam stated simply. "I didn't mean to push. I just don't want to see you beat yourself up over stuff that's not your fault."

Dean sighed and pretended to study the menu. There was no way he was telling Sam about the dream. His brother had enough guilt about what had happened at the asylum, and he would be more than willing to torment himself about Netawaka. Of course that was just stupid; no one would expect a seven year-old to take responsibility for himself. Dean knew his father had been right that night.

"Dean," Sam interrupted his thoughts impatiently. "Do you know what you want?"

A petite, pretty brunette was standing over the table with a pen and pad in hand. Eyeing him nervously, she offered, "I can come back…"

"Cheeseburger, fries, Coke." Dean gave her a shadow of his usual smile, which was still sufficient to send her floating away from the table. He followed her with his eyes for a second before turning his attention to his brother.

"I really think we should talk about Netawaka," Sam told him. "We want to be as prepared as possible."

"You said yourself, Sammy, we don't know that we're dealing with the same thing."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "So we need to do some research."

Dean started to ease himself out of the booth. "I'll go grab the laptop." Sam's hand on his arm stopped him, and he watched his little brother spring to his feet.

"I got it," Sam insisted, disappearing out the door.

In less than a minute he was back in the booth with the laptop booting up in front of him, handing Dad's journal to Dean. "Do you remember anything about Netawaka in here?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, reaching for the book. "Nope, but I'll take a look."

"What about the town? Do you remember what it was like?"

"It was small. There wasn't much there; people, a few businesses and an old railroad station," Dean paused as the waitress dropped off their food, giving her an appreciative smile for the quick service. "I don't know how much of what I remember about the town is helpful. That was a long time ago." He flipped through the journal with one hand while stuffing fries in his mouth with the other. "What about you?"

"I remember the house and the clearing." Sam grimaced. "And I remember the demon, but not clearly. I see lots of teeth and big claws, and it was huge."

Dean watched Sam shudder at the memory, and mentally cursed their father for sending them back to that place. Digging up buried memories after fifteen years, especially this type of memory, was never a good idea. Dean wondered fleetingly if this was Dad's way of telling him that he was once again doing a crappy job taking care of his brother, but he pushed the thought away, turning his attention back to Sam. Seeing his brother's nervousness, Dean promised himself that he wouldn't allow his little brother to be hurt again.

"I don't think it was much bigger than Dad," he tried to reassure, "and we're a lot bigger than we were back then. If it is the same type of demon, we are so gonna kick its ass."

"It looks like the same thing," Sam told him, spinning the laptop to face him while taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

Dean was relieved to see Sam eating again, but didn't comment. Instead he marked his place in the journal and wiped his hands before pulling the laptop over. He read the headline out loud, "Unknown Killer Claims Fourth Netawaka Child." Quickly scanning the article, he noted between bites, "Nine year-old boy…multiple bites…apparent claw marks…police officials cite possible animal attacks as cause." He looked across the table at Sam and hoped that he hadn't turned as pale as his brother. "Sounds kinda familiar, huh?"

Dean watched as Sam's worried expression turned to determination and he reached out to pull the laptop back. "I'll look for any patterns between last time and now."

Dean nodded and returned his attention to the journal, stuffing the last bite of his burger in his mouth. He glanced up to see Sam absentmindedly picking at his sandwich and frowned, "You're supposed to eat that."

Sam gave him a wry grin. "I kinda lost my appetite," he said, almost apologetically, before returning his attention to the laptop.

Dean gave his brother a measured look before closing the journal again. "If you're done, give me the keys and let's get back on the road."

"I don't mind driving," Sam told him without looking up. "You're the one that's hurt. You'll have more room to stretch out if I drive."

"Yeah, but you're the better researcher, college boy, you need to stick with the laptop," Dean shot back, snagging the keys off the table. "Besides, my baby misses my touch on her steering wheel." He signaled for the check, offering the waitress a dazzling smile that brought her scurrying to the table. After thanking her and tossing a handful of bills on the table Dean started to stand up, only to be stopped by Sam's hand on his arm.

"Dean, I think I've got something, but you're not going to like it."

Dean sighed, but settled back in the booth, "What?"

"I think Dad messed up on his research," Sam told him hesitantly. Dean could see the reluctance in his face, and understood how hard it was for Sam to even suggest it to him. He admitted to himself that even a few weeks ago he would have jumped to Dad's defense, but now he just waited for Sam to continue. When his brother eyed him uncomfortably he offered encouragement.

"Why do you think that?" Dean kept his voice neutral. It wasn't likely that Dad would make a mistake – he was always thorough, as he had taught them to be – but as the time spent searching for Dad increased and he didn't call or write with any more than the stupid coordinates, Dean found that he was more willing to entertain the possibility.

"Well," Sam began, once again turning the laptop to face him, "It looks like 1990 wasn't the first time this demon appeared. Look, here's 1975 too, and I bet if we keep looking we could find something comparable going back every 15 years."

Dean looked at the information, and had to admit that Sam might be right. "Okay Sammy, so keep checking and see if you can trace it back further. It's tough to believe that Dad would miss something like that." He struggled to keep his inner turmoil off his face. If their father had missed something this obvious, what other mistakes could he have made?

When Sam didn't answer, Dean glanced at him and caught an expression that almost looked like pity in his brother's eyes before he looked away. Unwilling to address the emotion, Dean slid out of the booth and slowly straightened up. "Let's get out of here, already," he insisted as he winked one last time at the waitress before heading for the door.

He stood by the car for a minute, trying to get a handle on his emotions before Sam followed him; Sam and his questions. Dean let out a short bark of laughter, mocking himself. It wasn't Sam's fault. Since they'd been little there had always been questions, and Dean had always found the right thing to say. He couldn't blame Sam now, when he didn't have the answers anymore. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and found himself face to face with his brother.

"You okay, man?"

Dean smirked. Let the questions begin. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm good."

"Why don't you let me drive so you can rest?"

Thinking of his earlier dream, Dean was quick to answer, "No, I'm fine," as he swung himself into the driver's seat. He heard Sam sigh, but after a moment he walked around to the passenger side.

"Dean," Sam began hesitantly as they pulled back onto the highway, "do you think Dad missed the pattern? I mean, how could he? That's one of the basics."

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "I don't know, Sammy. Maybe he got distracted somehow." Glancing at Sam, Dean decided to leave it at that. Knowing Sammy, if he knew the whole story he'd twist it around and blame himself. Sam had enough guilt already. Truth was, Dean knew that it was possible that Dad had been distracted, by Dean himself. They'd been arguing for weeks over Dad's desire to include Sam in the training that had been Dean's life for almost seven years.

Dean was sure that Sam would be surprised to hear how forcefully he'd stood up to Dad to protect his baby brother, but he wasn't going to put another wedge into the distance between Sam and Dad just to win brownie points. A little voice in his head pointed out that a few more brownie points might have prevented him from getting shot in the chest with rock salt, but he pushed the thought away impatiently.

"What do we do?" Sam asked. "Do we go at it the same way?"

"Find it, behead it, salt it, burn it, bind it," Dean recited. "Dad stopped it the first time, he just didn't follow through."

Sam closed the laptop and set it by his feet. "I'm gonna check the journal for answers," he said, reaching for the book.

Dean, sensing an end to the questions, reached over to flip the radio on. When he glanced over a few minutes later, Sam was asleep with the journal open on his lap.

One thing Dean had never minded was driving. He loved his car and his music, and his brother was there beside him. Normally he would look at a road trip as all the best parts of his life combined. Today was different, and he tried to sort his worries out in his head, classify them, and finally file them away and move on. Dean had learned long ago not to waste time with emotions. Sometimes he wished that Sam had learned as well.

Dean's first concern – as always – was Sammy. Watching him sleep in the car just served as a reminder of how little Sam slept at night. It had only gotten worst since the asylum when apparently Sam had heaped a new load of guilt on top of what he felt for Jess.

As a topic, the asylum brought a whole list of worries with it. Dean had tried to get rid of Sam's guilt without success, and he was still struggling with his own pain – emotional and physical. What had he done wrong to make Sam so angry? Dean understood that Sam's words and actions had been controlled by the Doctor, and he'd reassured Sammy of that more than once. Still, a part of him couldn't let go of the belief that the words had come from somewhere inside Sam; the Doctor had just found them and used them in a hurtful way that Sam wouldn't have even considered.

Dean brought a hand up to rub his chest, feeling the pain of the impact all over again. Sam was right. Driving was uncomfortable for him, but he had no intention of being the one to fall asleep in the passenger seat again. Really, Sam had been right about the whole trip, not that Dean was going to tell him so. They should still be back in the motel with Sammy resting and Dean watching over him while waiting for his injured chest to heal.

Instead they were on the road again, chasing down another set of coordinates, searching for Dad. Dean cursed softly, barely refraining from hitting the steering wheel. When he heard Sam stirring he took his anger and grimly pushed it away as well. No sense in waking Sam up, he already had his opinion on Dad and his actions.

Tired of his thoughts, Dean turned his attention to the road and his music, blocking everything else out for the next few hours.

It was dusk when they reached Netawaka. Dean found a small convenience store and gas station, but was directed back to the highway for a motel. Sam woke up as they got off at the exit, but was still blinking owlishly when the pulled into the motel parking lot.

"Morning, sunshine! You find anything in the journal?" Dean asked, laughing and relieved that Sam had gotten some uninterrupted sleep.

Sam rubbed his head, grinning sheepishly, "How long was I out?"

"'Bout four hours, I guess," Dean told him. "We're here."

When Dean returned from the office with their room key, Sam roused himself enough to help bring the bags in to the room, then settled at the small table common to all motel rooms, leafing through the journal. "I'm gonna try this again."

Dean nodded before heading for the door. "I'll go find us some food."

It felt like he was only gone a few minutes but, when he returned with a sack of burgers from the diner down the street, Dean could tell immediately that Sam had found something he didn't like.

"Would you look at this," Sam raged. He held the journal out, but when Dean tossed the bag on the table and reached for it Sam pulled it back and continued his rant. "He didn't write much about it. He was too busy trying to get you killed! Look! 'Eats children. Dean – bait?' He didn't do enough research to know that it was a recurring demon, but I guess it was enough for him to feel okay about risking your life!"

Dean watched the tirade without comment until the journal was sent flying across the room. He was stung by the implications of Sam's words, but this wasn't the time to be emotional. "Sammy, chill. Dad's always done what he had to. That time was no different." The words were like ashes in his mouth, but he forced a cocky grin. "Besides we all know I'm too damned handsome to die. Now, let's eat and then we'll focus on now. We've got a demon to kill."

Dean was relieved when Sam heeded his words and settled in at the table, pulling the bag over. He was getting tired of defending Dad, and was a lot less certain about his position in these discussions. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a groan from Sam.

"Jesus, man, don't you ever eat anything besides burgers?"

**TBC**


	4. You Want a Piece of Me?

**Title: You're Not Alone**

**Author: Nobdyptclr**

**Note: A surprise chapter on a weekday. Don't get spoiled - this is an exception to my standard Saturday posts!**

**Chapter 4: You Want a Piece of Me?**

Sam had to admit that the burgers had been good, and the food had helped to calm his frazzled nerves. He just couldn't believe how callous their father was with all of their lives, or the fact that Dean always found a justification to defend Dad's actions. He could tell that the strain of coming up with excuses was starting to wear on his big brother but, for some reason, Dean seemed to think that he still needed to provide that protection. When he was honest with himself, Sam admitted that he was relieved to have Dean there to lean on when he was angry or scared and confused.

Wiping his mouth with one of the cheap paper napkins, he put his elbows on the table and looked expectantly at his older brother. "So what's the plan?"

Dean shot him a sarcastic half-grin. "Well, since I don't see us borrowing someone's kid for bait, we'll need to be a little more creative."

Sam grinned back, but didn't comment, gesturing for him to continue.

"Here's what we've got," Dean made an obscene gesture in response to Sam's motion. "First, we know that the demon materialized in the same place at least twice. Second, we know that demons can hold a grudge and might want revenge on the one that got away. Third, we know that beheading kills it, at least temporarily. And fourth, it didn't see me to attack me until I left the protective circle, so maybe we can use that."

Sam eyed his brother, "So you want to go back to the clearing we were in fifteen years ago, use ourselves as bait, use magic circles that might work to hid, if necessary, and cut its head off with a sword. Is that it in a nutshell?"

"Pretty close," Dean told him, and Sam wasn't sure if he'd missed the sarcasm or just chosen to ignore it. "Listen, Sammy, this thing got a taste of me, and it might recognize my blood. I'm saying we find that clearing and hide you away in a circle with the sword. The demon comes sniffing around and you kill it. Then we salt, burn, bind and hit the road."

Sam shook his head. "No way. It got a piece of me too. You're hurt, you go in the circle."

"There's no guarantee this will work, but if it does you should be the one with the sword," Dean paused, and Sam noticed he couldn't meet his eyes. "Sammy, with my ribs like this I'm not sure I could protect you." He hesitated again before rushing on, "I watched that thing chase you down once. I can't handle that again." Dean stood up from the table and moved to sit on his bed, flipping the TV on to indicate the discussion was over.

"Okay," Sam agreed quickly, thrown off-balance by the unexpected admission. "We'll do it your way."

"Fine. Let's do it tonight."

Sam swept the wrappers off the table into the garbage and stood up. "I'm ready when you are."

It only took about twenty minutes to locate the house that they had stayed in so long ago. Neither of them had been sure how to get there, but the town was small and the neighborhood had not changed much. The neighbors were still distant, and the only noticeable additions were a small swing set and a sandbox in the clearing.

Sam looked around as they walked up the street; Dean had parked discretely about a block away. He noted that they would be partially visible in the light cast by the street light, but the road was not a busy one. With a little luck, they had a good chance of getting through this without interruption.

Their conversation during their preparations was minimal. Dean didn't comment as Sam set up the protective circle, closing it around himself. Sam watched his brother wander aimlessly around the clearing, speaking only to remind him to stay close. Dean smiled grimly as he unsheathed his knife, "Let's give this thing a little reminder," he said as he ran the knife across his forearm.

Sam watched the blood dripping from his brother's arm and imagined the coppery smell of the blood drawing the demon in. He tightened his grip on the sword and scanned the clearing with increased vigilance.

Dean was muttering, "Come on bitch. You know you want a piece of me," as he walked around Sam's circle, watching for signs.

After about thirty minutes, Sam was pretty sure that the plan wasn't working. "Dean, what're we gonna do? I don't think it's coming."

"Impatient much?" Dean snapped. "Jesus, Sammy, we haven't been here that long. I spent half the night in that damned circle last time."

"Yeah, you did. But the demon didn't come till I came out of the house. I don't think this is working."

Dean sighed. "Fine. We give it another half-hour and we're done."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he got a good look at his brother. In the light of the streetlight Dean looked uncertain and worn-out, and his left arm was crusted with blood. He definitely didn't look like he had the strength to argue, but of course he would anyway if questioned. "Fine," Sam told his stubborn big brother. "Thirty minutes."

As Dean turned back to his pacing, Sam saw the porch light come on across the street. "Dean, we may have a problem," he called softly to his brother, watching a man come out of the house and start toward them.

Turning around, Dean cursed under his breath and moved to meet the man, pulling his sleeve down over his arm. Sam continued to watch from where he was, concealing the sword with his body.

"Good evening, sir," Dean put on his best professional demeanor, making Sam laugh to himself. The guy wouldn't know what hit him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the stranger demanded.

"I'm Agent Switek and that's Agent Zito," Dean told him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Sam. "We're with Federal Wildlife."

Sam eyed the distrust on the man's face. The stranger was probably in his thirties and a little on the plump side. He'd be no challenge for Dean, but they really didn't need the distraction.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I have my family to look out for," the man told Dean forcefully. "If you don't show me ID I'm going to have my wife call the cops."

Dean produced an ID card and a small maglite. "Now if you're satisfied, I have to ask you to return to your home. We are trying to track the animal that's been killing people around here. We're a bit busy." He reached to take back the card. Sam saw Dean stiffen and followed his gaze over the man's shoulder. A young boy, no older than ten, was coming down the front steps of the house, walking out into the street.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, running toward the boy. "No!"

Sam wasn't sure if Dean was calling to him or if he was caught up in the past but, when he saw the demon materialize not far from the boy, he leaped from the circle and ran after his brother.

"Petie!" the man shouted as Sam brushed past him. "Oh my god!"

Sam watched, this time from a distance, as for the second time in his life Dean dove between the demon and its prey. Sam tried to race to his side, but the stranger jostled him and suddenly their feet were tangled and the sword fell out of his hand as they both hit the ground. He could hear Petie whimpering and his own harsh breathing as he scrambled to his feet, then the night was filled with screams – Dean's screams as the demon's teeth and claws tore at his flesh.

Sam felt a cold fury settle over him. Pushing Petie's Dad roughly to the side, he seized the sword and ran forward, driving it into the demon's back. As the creature dropped Dean and turned to face its attacker, Sam swung with all his strength, separating the demon's head from its body. He was on his knees at Dean's side almost before the creature's head hit the ground.

"Well that plan kinda sucked, huh?" Dean was pale, eyes closed and one hand clamped over a wound on his neck, but Sam felt relief wash through him as his brother spoke.

"There were some flaws," he choked out around the lump in his throat as he ripped the tail off his shirt. "Here, let go for a minute so I can look at that."

Dean complied and in the dim light Sam could see that blood was flowing freely from what appeared to be a bite where neck and shoulder met.

"Bastard went for my face," Dean muttered. "But I gave him something to think about." He motioned to the demon's head, and Sam saw his brother's knife buried in one eye. He quickly folded the material from his shirt into a square and began to apply pressure with shaking hands.

"Nice shot," he said, shaking his head. Leave it to Dean to joke around at a time like this.

Dean reached up to take over. "I got this, Sammy. Go get the salt and stuff." Sam hesitated until Dean cuffed him with his free hand. "I'm fine. We've got to finish this."

Sam nodded and darted back to the circle where he'd left their bag of supplies. When he returned, Dean was on his feet speaking with Petie's father, who had his son wrapped securely in his arms.

"…You're welcome, sir. There shouldn't be any further problems, but you should take your son and return to your home." Dean's tone was firm, and the man started across the street. Halfway to his house he turned back.

"What was that thing?"

Sam jumped in. "Mister, we are going to have to examine and classify it. Someone from the Wildlife Service will be in touch. Now if you could excuse us, we have to finish our job."

Nodding, but obviously still confused, the man retreated into his house.

"You go, Sammy," Dean laughed. "Now, let's get this over with."

Together the brothers salted the remains and lit them on fire. As the flames began to die, Dean sank to the ground.

"I think you're on your own for the binding ritual, Sammy," he said weakly.

Dean?" Sam knelt next to him.

"Finish it Sam and go get the car. I'm so ready to get out of here."

Sam took his jacket off, rolled it up and put it under Dean's head before turning back to the demon. The neck wound appeared to have stopped bleeding, but Dean was obviously at the end of his strength. Sam hurried through the binding ritual and returned to Dean for the car keys.

"In my coat pocket," Dean told him without moving.

Pulling the keys out, Sam ran down the street to the car. As he reached to unlock the door, he realized that his fingers were wet. The interior light confirmed his fear – his hand was coated with his brother's blood.

Leaping into the Impala, Sam flew back up the street to Dean's side, grabbing the first aid kit and flashlight on his way out of the car. Dean looked very pale and still in the beam of the light, but he opened his eyes as Sam approached.

"It might have tagged me a little harder than I thought," he said hoarsely, sending a chill of panic down Sam's spine. For Dean to admit pain it had to be bad.

"Let me take a look," Sam instructed, trying to keep his voice steady.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean reassured. "I think I stopped the bleeding. Just help me to the car and we'll take care of it at the motel."

Sam sighed with a mixture of frustration and love. When was Dean going to stop protecting him? "There's blood on your coat. I want to make sure it's all from your neck before we go anywhere." Not waiting for an answer, Sam opened the coat and shined the light over his brother. He sucked in his breath as he found claw marks wrapping around Dean's right side and saw that the left sleeve of his coat was shredded.

Sam exhaled slowly, trying to control his anger. "You fucking idiot! You could have bled to death while we were screwing around with the body!" He noted that, while the wounds were deep in places most had stopped bleeding. "Jesus, Dean, why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Family trait," his brother gasped through gritted teeth as he struggled to sit up. "Gimme a hand, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he snapped back, but leaned down to help, taking most of Dean's weight as he led him to the car.

His concern was compounded when Dean allowed himself to be lowered into the passenger seat without any comments about blood on the interior of his baby, but the feeling was replaced by annoyance as a police car slid in behind the Impala. He cursed the nosy neighbor who apparently couldn't stop causing problems.

"Officer, can I help you?" he asked as the man climbed out of the patrol car. He saw his brother's eyes pop open and Dean tried to sit up a little straighter.

"I need to see some ID."

Sam reached for the federal ID that Dean had provided earlier. "Is there a problem?" He asked as he handed it over.

"A neighbor called about a disturbance," the officer advised. "Feds, huh?"

"Yeah. We're investigating the animal attacks."

"Can you explain what happened here? The caller said something about his son being attacked and swords and fire." The cop moved closer, eyeing Sam suspiciously.

"Officer, I'd be happy to give a statement, but right now my partner is hurt and I need to get him to a hospital." Sam made his voice as authoritative as possible. "Why don't you go speak to your caller, then meet me at the emergency room?"

The officer took a step back, and his suspicion was replaced by uncertainty as he glanced into the car at Dean. "Do you want an ambulance?"

"No, thank you," Sam responded. "I'll just get on the road now, and I'll see you shortly."

"I guess that would be okay," the officer told him, cowed by Sam's confidence. He watched the Impala pull away before turning to the house across the street.

"No hospital," Dean told him as he lay back in the seat.

"I kinda figured that. But I think I bought enough time to hit the motel and get you cleaned up before we get out of here." Sam glanced briefly at his brother before focusing on the road. He was determined to hold it together, like he knew Dean would if their positions were reversed. "Hang in there, Dean," he muttered, stomping on the accelerator, ignoring the fact that his brother didn't answer.

**TBC**


	5. Home Again

**A/N: Sorry. I'm a day late and several pages short of my usual chapter length with this update. Vicious cold has knocked the sense out of me. Bear with me for this chapter, and I promise it will get better.**

**Chapter Five: Home Again**

The drive to the motel seemed to take hours, but in reality Sam knew it had been less than ten minutes. He pulled in as close as possible to their door and ran to open it before coming back to the car for Dean. His brother's eyes were closed, but Sam was reassured by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Dean? Come on, man, you've got to wake up for a minute." Patting his face gently, then a little more firmly, Sam sighed in relief when Dean opened his eyes and looked around.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. "We're back at the motel. Let's get you inside."

Dean swung his legs out of the car, struggling to his feet without protest, and Sam reached out to him, taking most of his weight.

"We don't have much time," Dean reminded him.

"I know," Sam answered, resignedly, "but we've got time to patch you up before we go." He lowered his brother onto the closest bed and went back for the first aid kit. When he returned, Dean had removed his jacket, but was struggling with his shirt.

"Here, let me." Sam eased the shirt off gently and flinched as he got his first look at the injuries in good light. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds were livid against his brother's skin. Two of the four claw marks on his side would need stitches, as would the bite on his neck. The damage to his arm appeared to be less severe, but probably would require that the arm be immobilized temporarily, especially considering how stubbornly Dean would continue to use it if he could.

"Clean them and sew 'em up before you pack," Dean instructed. "That should give enough time so you don't have to carry me out."

Sam half-smiled; Dean was nothing if not practical. He began to lay out the supplies he'd need.

"Give me the alcohol and holy water."

Sam complied, then went back to threading the needle with shaking hands. He couldn't look at his brother's face as Dean poured the mixture over his wounds with an unsteady hand. His hissed exhale of breath was the only evidence of his pain.

"Damn that stings." Dean managed a tight smile before motioning Sam to begin. "Have at it, Sammy."

Sam willed his hand to stop shaking as he reached toward the deepest claw mark. He hesitated – it had been a long time since he'd had to sew someone up. It wasn't the first time, of course, but he'd been away for four years and, even before that, Dad had usually handled the first aid, with Dean taking over when Dad couldn't do it. Hell, he remembered Dean sewing on a gash in his own leg to spare Sam from having to do it. He looked up to see Dean eyeing him with concern, and laughed to himself. _Bet he's wishing he hadn't been quite so protective,_ he thought. Out loud he joked, "Just thinking I should have gone with pre-med instead of pre-law."

"I can reach most of it myself," Dean offered.

"Nah. I got it." He rested one hand on his brother's shoulder, "It's just…I hate to have to hurt you."

"It's got to be done, and we don't have lots of time here, Sammy."

Sam grinned; his brother the pragmatist. "Okay. Here we go."

He felt Dean tense up under his hands as he began, but by the time he finished with the second gash, Dean's body was limp. Sam allowed himself to relax a little as he stitched up his brother's neck and applied butterfly bandages to the other wounds. He wrapped gauze around his brother's left arm and used a wet washcloth to wipe the drying sweat off both their faces before turning away to start packing.

They hadn't spent much time at the motel before the hunt, and it took less than five minutes for Sam to get their things together and load them in the car. Returning to the room, he sat down on the edge of his brother's bed. Dean looked so peaceful lying there, if you could see past the bandages; peaceful and young.

The full weight of his current responsibilities hit Sam like a ton of bricks, and it was a struggle to keep from shaking Dean awake and demanding his help. _Where should they go? How long before the cops came looking for them? Did that officer get their plate number? What if Dean wouldn't wake up? What if his wounds got infected?_ Sam leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He couldn't handle this by himself. He didn't know how Dean did it.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Sam glanced at the time before reaching to shake Dean gently. It had been about an hour – worst case would have the cop just realizing that he'd been played and initiating a search. They needed to get on the road. Sam shook harder, and Dean mumbled something unintelligible, turning his head away. His body started to follow, but a stab of pain stopped the movement and brought Dean back to consciousness. Pain and confusion filled his eyes as he looked at his brother, but determination replaced them quickly as he recognized their surroundings.

"Sammy," Dean rasped, "We ready to go?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I packed everything in the car except you."

Dean shot him a tight grin. "So what are you waiting for?" He struggled to sit up. "I'm going to need some help here, Sammy."

Sam eased his brother off the bed and led him, one painful step at a time, to the car. When Dean was settled into the passenger seat, pale and gasping for breath, Sam looked at him for a moment then retreated to the back of the car. He rummaged through the trunk for a minute before disappearing into the motel room, reappearing at his brother's side with two pills and a glass of water.

"Take these for the pain," he ordered, knowing that Dean would decline if he was less firm. Still, when Dean accepted the pills without argument, Sam fought another wave of panic, knowing that Dean would be asleep soon and he would be on his own. With shaking hands he closed the car door and hurried to the driver's side. As he settled in the seat with his hands tightly clenching the steering wheel, Dean turned to him.

"Sammy, we've got to keep moving until we know if that cop got our plate number."

Sam nodded, unable to meet his brother's eyes as he fought his fear.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean told him, "I shouldn't have taken the pills." His voice was starting to slur. "Get the adrenalin from the first aid kit. It should keep me awake till we have a plan." He reached for his door handle, but apparently his hand was too heavy.

"Dean," Sam snapped out of it, reaching over to turn his brother's face toward his. "I'm okay. It's under control." He forced eye contact. "Just rest. I'll take care of everything." Releasing him, Sam started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Within ten minutes Dean was asleep and Sam was alone with his fear. He knew that by now Dean would have a plan and a destination, but he had to admit that he wasn't Dean. He had no idea what he should do, and a nagging fear that whatever it was he wouldn't be able to do it alone.

Inspiration struck and he reached for his cell phone, pulling up a contact from its memory. It wasn't what Dean would do but, as he pushed the send button, he reminded himself again that he wasn't Dean.

The phone was picked up on the second ring, and he heard a familiar, calming voice, "Sam, honey, what's wrong?"

"Missouri," he choked out, struggling to keep his voice even, "we need help. Dean's hurt and the cops may be after us."

She sensed what was needed before he asked. "Sweetie, you know you boys are always welcome here. You just hang in there and I'll be right here waiting for you."

"We're coming from Netawaka," Sam told her. "It'll be about an hour."

Missouri felt his fear and got general impressions of the events leading up to his call. Her lips thinned and anger flashed in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm and reassuring for Sam's sake. "I'll move my car out, and you can pull right into the garage when you get here." She paused, sensing that he needed more from her. "Sam, you did a good job patching your brother up, and you made the right choice calling. I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Missouri," Sam told her, his voice thick with relief and gratitude.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, Missouri turned angry eyes to the man in the doorway.

"You told them to come here," the man asked, "after I told you I couldn't see them yet?"

"John!" Missouri exclaimed in disbelief. "Your boys are hurt and scared and they need help, and you want me to turn them away?"

"Missouri, I brought them up to look out for themselves and each other. They don't need anyone else." John began to pace around the room, speaking again with anger. "Dean knows better than to involve outsiders. What is that boy thinking?"

"John Winchester, if you ever call me an outsider again I will slap you and throw you out of this house! Now, for your information, Dean is unconscious. Sam called me, probably because he knows that you won't answer your phone." She searched his face, looking for concern, begging him silently to ask about his boys, but John was silent. Her eyes narrowed in anger. "How could you send them back to that place?"

John stopped pacing to look at her, his own anger obvious, "What did Sam tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything, John. Psychic, remember? Obviously you do, or you wouldn't put so much energy into keeping me out of your head." When he took a step toward her she held her ground. "I could sense that there was something that happened there when they were younger, a lot of fear – past and present – linked to that town. Why would you put your boys through that?"

"Because they can handle it!" he roared in her face. "Don't you dare question how I take care of my family!"

Still refusing to back down, Missouri met his eyes and lowered her voice to a deadly calm. "You have a choice to make, John. You can stay here and be a father to your boys and help me reassure them and heal them," she paused and took a deep breath, "or, you can get the hell out of my house." She searched his face for an answer.

John met her eyes for a moment, and she could feel his despair as if it were her own. Breaking eye contact, he turned away, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'll go pack my bag."

**TBC**


	6. A Mother's Arms

**Chapter 6**

**A Mother's Arms**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately did not receive the show or characters for Christmas**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. As I return to the world of writing, your feedback means a lot to me!**

She could hear John moving around the house, but Missouri didn't move from her chair at the kitchen table until she heard the front door closing behind him. There was no point trying to change his mind – she had never met a more stubborn man.

Missouri sighed and climbed to her feet. She should change the bed in the downstairs guest room and air out the spare bedroom upstairs. There probably wasn't time to go for groceries but, sooner than later, they would need food and medical supplies.

Walking into the guest room, Missouri gasped in surprise. The bed had been changed, and the everyday items from the nightstand had been moved to the dresser, replaced by a vial of pills and bundles of bandages and other supplies. As her eyes filled with tears, she cursed under her breath, "Dammit, John. I don't think I'll ever understand you."

Turning, she picked up the dirty sheets, which had been left in a neat pile by the door, and left the room. After cracking the window in the upstairs bedroom, Missouri returned to the kitchen to make a few sandwiches. She expected that Sam, at least, would be hungry. Even if he wasn't, it was a good way to keep her hands busy while she waited for the boys.

Missouri was hard-pressed to explain – even to herself – how she had formed such a deep attachment to the two boys in such a short time. The memory of two little boys was faint, and their interaction since then amounted to less than a week in over twenty years, and yet the need to protect them was so strong that she had turned away her friend of twenty-some years so she could help them. She shook her head, moving to the back door as she heard a car in the driveway. There really wasn't any other choice; she had angered John and she had a vague sense that she might be exposing herself to danger, but there was no way that she could turn her back on those motherless, lost boys.

Missouri walked into the garage as Sam climbed out of the car. As he walked toward her she opened her arms and he almost fell into her embrace. After a minute he found his voice, "I don't know how we can ever thank you for this."

"You don't have to thank me, Sam. After what we went through together, you boys are practically family. Now let's see about getting your brother out of the car." Missouri allowed Sam to lead the way along the passenger side of the car. Dean was lying back in the seat, sleeping or unconscious. As Sam opened the door she reached in to take Dean's hand, and was relieved to find that his sleep – while drug induced – was not harmful.

"Can you carry him, or do we need to wake him up?"

Sam eyed his brother; Dean was shorter but stockier. "I'll take him if it's not far." He figured the strain would be worth Dean's embarrassment when he found out his baby brother had carried him. Sam flinched away as Missouri swatted him in the head.

"Don't torment your brother," she admonished, before moving aside so he could get to Dean. "The guest room is right on the first floor."

Sam took his brother gently in his arms, lifting him out of the car. Dean mumbled to himself but didn't wake, letting his head drop onto Sam's shoulder. Sam felt surprise followed by a wave of protectiveness as he carried his brother into the house and settled him on the bed.

Sensing his feelings, Missouri helped him to remove Dean's clothes then left them alone. "I'll be in the kitchen, Sam."

Sam nodded and moved up the side of the bed to check the bandages. The one on Dean's neck was spotted with dried blood, but the others were pretty clean. Sam decided to let his brother rest a little longer before checking on his handy work. Pulling the covers up under Dean's chin, Sam wanted to just sit and hold his brother's hand, watching him sleep. Reminding himself that Missouri was waiting – and that Dean would hate to wake up to his hand being held – Sam turned away to find their host in the kitchen.

Motioning for Sam to sit down, Missouri placed a plate of sandwiches in front of him, accompanied by a tall glass of iced tea. Feeling the full weight of his exhaustion, Sam accepted the meal without comment and started on a sandwich. As he finished his first and started in on a second, Sam felt the tiredness and confusion lifting away. Panic and self-doubt rushed in to fill the void they left and, dropping the sandwich back on his plate, Sam leaped to his feet.

"Jesus, I forgot to check for fever! And our stuff's got to come in from the car. And it's practically the middle of the night. You should be in bed, Missouri. I'm so sorry." Sam knew that he was babbling, but he couldn't seem to stop. He turned to go back into Dean's room, but Missouri took his arm, stopping him.

"Sam, honey, you're doing just fine. Let your brother sleep while he can, and we'll get your bags in a little bit. Sit and eat, and don't worry about me, I don't need a lot of sleep." Missouri led him back to the table, this time sitting down next to him. "Sam, why don't you tell me about what happened?"

Sam was quiet for a minute, but Missouri could sense his mind casting back over the events, organizing his thoughts before he spoke. She was only slightly surprised when he decided to start with their trip to Roosevelt Asylum, and she sighed internally as she felt the extent of his guilt and self-doubt, but sat quietly listening as he told his story.

Mindful of the clock, which was rapidly approaching midnight, Sam tried to hit the high points of what had happened since they'd left Lawrence. In spite of his best efforts, by the time he'd talked through from the appointment with the younger Dr. Ellicott to the results of both trips to Netawaka, it was almost 2am.

Missouri had provided encouragement without interruption, and now she felt like she had a good grasp of the events. She tried to put her anger and disappointment with the boys' father aside – John had obviously hidden the scope of his continued involvement with his sons from her, and she found herself once again questioning his actions. This was not the time for that, she reminded herself, giving her full attention back to Sam.

Making her voice firm, Missouri forced Sam to meet her eyes. "So what you're saying is that you think all of it is your fault and your brother has good reason to hate you."

Sam broke eye contact, nodding his head. "Missouri, I bad-mouthed him to that shrink, then I shot him with rock salt and tried to blow his head off." Sam shuddered. "If the gun had been loaded…" He shook his head, unable to finish. "Then I let him drag us off after Dad again before he had time to heal, and I was too slow to keep him from getting hurt. Again."

Missouri waited a moment to make sure he was done, then began ticking off points on her fingers, overturning his arguments. "Sam, first of all, it's not surprising that you would have feelings of anger toward your brother. With your father missing, he's the only target you have representing a life that you hate. But Sam, it's the life you hate, not your brother. The doctor's ghost used your feelings of resentment to control you. That's not your fault – it could have happened to anyone, and you weren't the first. You didn't shoot your brother, he did."

Sam shook his head in denial. "I should have fought harder. Dean won't talk about it, but I'm sure he had to fight the doctor before he burned the bones. They never go quietly. Somehow Dean beat him. Alone."

Missouri suspected that he was right, but chose her words carefully, encouraging him. "Maybe you wore the doctor out, weakened him, with your fighting. Maybe you made it easier for Dean to fight." Missouri was confident that her second statement was true, just not in the way that Sam would interpret it. She felt certain that knowing that his little brother was there – defenseless – would make it easier for Dean to fight.

"Okay," Sam nodded in acceptance, "but I still almost got him killed in Netawaka, twice."

Missouri restrained herself from sighing. She wondered how Sam would react if she told him he was just like his father. Were all the Winchester men destined to be stubborn and guilt-ridden? Knowing her thoughts would not be well received, Missouri instead laid her hand on Sam's arm reassuringly.

"Sam, do you really think that a seven year-old boy could be blamed for what happened? And do you really think that you could talk your stubborn, twenty-six year-old brother out of following a lead on your father?"

"No, I guess not," Sam admitted despondently. "I just…I don't know. We've been following Dad's trail for months and it's not getting us anywhere. I think we both knew Dean wasn't ready, but we didn't see any other choice."

"You can't blame yourself for that," Missouri told him gently. She stood up, pulling him to his feet as well. "Let's get your things from the car and I'll show you your room, then you can check on your brother."

Sam allowed Missouri to lead him to the garage. The telling of the story had left him tired and drained but he also felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Missouri had listened, and had not condemned his actions. Maybe he truly wasn't to blame.

Missouri's step was heavy, her body weighted down with anger and sadness. She did not blame Sam for the events he had described, and she could feel his relief as he walked behind her. No, she reserved the blame for one man – John Winchester. Struggling to control her expression and body language so that Sam would not realize how upset she was, Missouri once again pushed away thoughts of the man who had become a good friend over the years, who apparently was nowhere near the man she had thought he was.

Sam threw his own bag over one shoulder and his brother's over the other. He was about to forgo their usual arsenal for the night but, realizing how Dean would react to this, he reached for a shotgun, glancing at Missouri for approval.

Rolling her eyes with a small smile, Missouri gave her consent. "If that's what it takes to make you boys feel at home."

Shooting her a grateful smile, Sam selected a couple of shotguns and a knife, then followed her back into the house. As he stepped inside, Missouri pointed in the direction of the guest room.

"Your brother is waking up."

Sam set one of the shotguns aside and dropped his bag to the floor before hurrying through the house.

"I'll wait here for you," Missouri called after him as she began puttering around the kitchen.

He practically ran down the hall to Dean's room and burst through the doorway, but something stopped him from running to the bed. He knew how Dean felt about emotions; the least he could do was control his. He set down the bag at the foot of the bed and brought the shotgun up to prop it against the nightstand. Meeting his brother's eyes, he gave Dean a small grin, showing him the knife before slipping it under the pillow.

Dean returned the smile. "Thanks," he said hoarsely, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. Sam reached quickly to help ease him up, placing an extra pillow behind him.

Pushing his fear aside, Sam tried to view his brother with detachment. Except for the circles under his eyes, Dean's skin was pale; almost matching the bandages on his chest and arm. Sam didn't bother to ask how he felt – they'd been down that road too many times, and he knew the response would be useless. Instead, he took Dean's clenched jaw, shallow breathing, and his tight grasp on the bedding as his answer. He started to reach for his brother's hand but caught himself, pretending to smooth the blankets instead.

"Do you think you could eat something?"

Dean made a face, shaking his head. "Not really hungry right now."

"How 'bout some toast or something? I don't want to give you more pills on an empty stomach."

Dean sighed, but nodded slightly in agreement. "Okay, Sammy."

Sam nodded back. "Good." Hiding his concern that the pills would be accepted without argument, he patted his brother's leg through the covers. "I'll be right back."

When he walked into the kitchen, Missouri was bent over the counter, putting finishing touches onto a plate. Sam felt another pang of guilt that she was up in the middle of the night, her house invaded by relative strangers toting guns, and here she was making food that his brother wouldn't eat.

"Missouri," he began hesitantly, "I don't think Dean can handle a sandwich right now. He said he might try some…" he trailed off as she turned and handed him the plate.

"Toast," Missouri finished for him as he accepted the plate holding two slices with a light coating of raspberry jam, "and here's a ginger ale." When he took the glass she started out of the room. "When you finish I'll meet you upstairs and show you your room. Just holler if you need anything else."

Sam started after her, a question on his lips, but decided that Dean was the priority. As he walked back to the side of the bed, Dean reached out with his good arm to snag a slice of toast. He chewed hesitantly at first, then a little more enthusiastically. Between bites he looked at Sam questioningly.

"Where are we, Sammy?"

"We're at Missouri's," Sam answered, handing him the second piece of toast. For a moment he thought he saw fear in Dean's eyes, but then it was gone and his brother was rolling his eyes. "Hey, it was nearby, and it was all I could think of," Sam snapped defensively. "I'm sure you would've had some brilliant plan, but this was the best I could do." He didn't look at his brother, but he could feel Dean's eyes on him as he picked up the pills from the nightstand.

Dean's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. "You're doing great, Sam. You got me fixed up, got us to a safe place, and now you're all Florence Nightingale," he smirked. "Look at all those supplies. Talk about prepared."

"Missouri had these ready when we got here," Sam told him, but the defensiveness was gone from his voice. "And I'm not a nurse, jerk." He was focused on the medicine and didn't see Dean's eyes lingering on the pill vial in confusion. "Here, take your pills and then I'll check your bandages."

Dean accepted the pills, smirking at him again, and didn't comment as Sam checked and re-dressed his wounds. He was starting to nod off as Sam removed the extra pillow and helped him to lie back down.

"Do you want me to stay?" Sam asked, once again straightening the blankets.

"Nah. Go ahead and sleep," Dean answered, eyes already shut.

Sam reached out, hesitated, then allowed himself to smooth his brother's hair. He turned to leave, smiling as Dean mumbled something about chick flicks.

True to her word, Missouri came to meet him in the hallway as he reached the top of the stairs. She was enveloped in a huge, fuzzy, blue bathrobe, and Sam saw immediately how tired she looked.

"Missouri, I'm really sorry to keep you up all night," he began to apologize again.

"Boy, stop apologizing and don't treat me like an old lady. Your room is right over here." She led him into a large but sparsely furnished room, with bed, nightstand and dresser taking up only about a third of the available space. "It's a little bare, but it should do. The bathroom is at the end of the hall," Missouri told him. "Now, how's your brother?"

Sam looked at her for a minute before answering, and the despair in his eyes and his mind almost took her breath away.

"What's the use," he asked, "of having this power if it doesn't protect us? Who cares how many people I can help if I can't keep my own brother safe?

"Oh, Sam, I don't know," Missouri told him, echoing his frustration. "It may be, when it gets stronger, that you'll be able to control it better."

"Or maybe not," Sam shot back. "And how long will that take, anyway?"

Missouri could tell that his words came from his frustration. Sam clearly knew that she wouldn't have many more answers than he did, but he was exhausted and frightened and didn't know where to turn. She reached out and pulled him into her embrace.

"Sam, I wish I had all the answers to give you, but I don't. You just have to do what you can with your powers, and you boys keep looking out for each other."

He rested his head on her shoulder for a minute and Missouri felt his thoughts wash over her. She felt a wave of sadness as she realized that Sam had no memories of being held by his mother.

"I wish I could tell you if this is what that feels like," Missouri told him sadly. "I can't be your mother, Sam, but I can be your friend. And I want you to know that I'm very proud of you and your brother." She pulled away, patting his cheek. "Now get some rest." She slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her, knowing that Sam wouldn't see her as she leaned against the wall outside to take a deep breath and wipe the tears from her eyes.

Sam pulled a pair of sweats from his bag, which Missouri had apparently wrestled up the stairs for him. He changed quickly and lay back on the bed, but sleep eluded him. The memory of Missouri's embrace lingered, reminding him of another – much smaller – set of arms from years ago; small but strong arms that held him when he was scared and picked him up when he fell.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Sam quietly slipped down the stairs and into the guest room. Pulling a chair to the side of the bed, he settled in – shotgun across his lap – to watch over his brother as he slept.

**TBC**


	7. You're Not Alone

**Title: You're Not Alone**

**Author: Nobdyptclr**

**Disclaimer: Insert standard disclaimer here. lol.**

**A/N: Happy Holidays everyone. Thanks for your continued reviews! Sorry I'm a little late on this update, but I promise to have another one no later than Saturday.**

Chapter 7: You're Not Alone

Shortly after the sun peeked over the horizon, Missouri gave up on sleep and climbed out of bed. It wasn't the boys' fault – sleep was often a stranger to her. Her powers resulted in a cacophony of voices in her head and, while her control was good, there were many nights where sleep was limited to a few hours.

Settling into the comfort of her familiar routine, she showered, dressed and tidied her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom before stepping out into the hallway. The door to the upstairs bedroom was closed and the house remained silent as she descended the stairs. Missouri glanced into the guest room on her way past and found herself stopping for a closer look. Dean was asleep in the bed, stretched out on his back; his wounded arm was resting on his chest with the other extended upward, hand tucked under his pillow. His brother was leaning forward in a chair with his head pillowed on his arms on the edge of the bed, shotgun cradled on his lap as he slept.

With a shake of her head and a small smile, Missouri tiptoed into the room and took the spare blanket from the foot of the bed to spread across Sam's shoulders. She felt his gratitude in her mind as he mumbled something that resembled "thanks Dean" before drifting back to sleep.

At the sound of his brother's voice, Dean began to stir, and Missouri moved up the far side of the bed toward him. She pretended not to notice when his good arm tensed and partially withdrew a knife from under the pillow, instead focusing on his face as his eyes opened and he stared glassily at her.

"Dean, honey, it's okay," she said gently. "You're safe at my house, and Sam is right here with you." She felt gratified when he accepted her words without question, tucking the knife away under his pillow.

Missouri reached out to lay her hand on his forehead, relieved to find no fever. "Try to go back to sleep if you can," she told him in the same gentle voice. "It's still early." She ran her hand through his hair as his eyes closed and, when he leaned into the gesture, remained by his side, stroking his hair, until he fell back to sleep.

Having the boys there with her felt like a piece of her life had just dropped into place – a piece that she hadn't known was missing. She still felt that vague sense of danger, but it was accompanied by a certainty that this was what she was supposed to do. Missouri accepted that they would be moving on but, for the time being, she would do her part to take care of them.

Adjusting the bed covers, she reluctantly forced herself to leave the boys to their sleep and continued with her housekeeping. When Sam got up a little over an hour later, he followed the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen, where he found her putting away dishes.

"Good morning, Sam. Are you hungry?"

Sam gave her a small grin as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Just coffee for now, thanks." He started toward the pot, but Missouri motioned him into a seat, placing a mug in front of him, followed quickly by the milk and sugar.

"How did you sleep?" she asked, returning to the dishes.

"A few hours. That's pretty normal for me," Sam explained quickly. "I'm really sorry I kept you up so late."

"I told you to stop apologizing," Missouri reminded him. She finished with the dishes and brought her own cup of coffee to the table. "I'm glad that I can help."

"Still," Sam continued, "if there's anything that I can do…"

"We'll see," Missouri answered noncommittally. There were errands to run, and she wanted the opportunity to speak to Dean alone, but she could also sense Sam's reluctance to be too far away from his big brother. "First let's see about some breakfast." She began pulling ingredients from her cabinets and refrigerator. "Pancakes, bacon and eggs?"

Sam grinned, joining her by the stove. "Perfect. I'll give you a hand."

"I don't mind…" Missouri began.

"You don't have to wait on us. I want to help. I haven't had the chance to cook in a while." Sam thought back to his time with Jess, remembering the meals that they'd fixed together. He realized with surprise that the memories were happy and not accompanied by the expected pain. With the realization came the sense of loss, but he pushed it aside impatiently and accepted the pancake batter from Missouri. She gave him a sympathetic smile as she laid strips of bacon in a frying pan, patting his arm reassuringly.

As they had almost finished preparing the meal, Missouri turned to him. "Why don't you go give your brother a hand while I dish this up?"

Sam nodded, wiping his hands, and went down the hall. He found Dean standing by the bed, his good arm holding him up as he leaned on the nightstand.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam rushed to his brother's side, but hesitated to touch him; he seemed like one big bandage.

"I gotta take a piss, Sammy, if that's okay," Dean snapped at him. "Damned pills made my head fuzzy. I'll be fine in a minute."

Sam brushed off his tone. Dean was always crabby when he was hurt, and he hated the loss of control that came with the medication. "Let me give you a hand," he offered.

Dean sighed, pushing off the nightstand to take a couple of shaky steps. Sam moved up on his right side and grabbed his good arm when it became clear he wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet alone. He slid his arm around Dean's waist, holding him up gently, mindful of the stitches in his side. Dean accepted his help without comment, but turned on him when they reached the bathroom.

"You're not going to stand here and watch, are you?" he snarled.

His attitude made Sam want to do just that, and anything else that might irritate his brother, but he realized it would be a wasted effort. He'd end up more embarrassed than Dean, who hadn't hesitated to walk through a strange house in his boxers. Shaking his head, Sam backed out of the room, closing the door.

"I'll go find your toothbrush and stuff," he called.

He returned a few minutes later with the promised toothbrush, clean boxers and sweatpants.

"Dude, where's my razor?"

"Dean, there's no way you're standing in front of the mirror long enough to shave. Relax. There's nobody to impress here."

Dean smirked, pulling on the clean clothes awkwardly with one hand. He lowered himself onto the edge of the tub as he brushed his teeth and Sam could see sweat popping out on his forehead.

Sam helped his brother rinse his mouth out, then lowered him to sit on the toilet. Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hand, elbow on knee. Sam placed a cool, damp washcloth on the back of his neck, thinking of the times that his brother had done the same for him.

"Dizzy," Dean said thickly. "Damned pills."

"Just take it easy a minute, then we'll get you back to bed," Sam told him gently. Grabbing the matching hand towel from the rack, he soaked it in the cold water too, wringing it out and using it to wipe his brother's face. Dean accepted his ministrations for a minute before pushing his hand away.

"Don't baby me, Sam," he snapped, pulling himself up.

Sam sighed, but stayed by his side, taking most of his weight as they slowly made their way back to the bedroom. As soon as Dean was settled back in bed, Missouri appeared with a tray containing both their plates. Sensing the tension, she set it down on the dresser without comment and left them alone.

Sam set the tray on Dean's lap, taking his own plate and coffee as he sat back in his chair. They didn't speak as they ate, and Sam was relieved to see that Dean did eat. As they finished he reached for the vial of pills, but Dean stopped him.

"I'm not taking any more of that shit."

Sam eyed his brother, seeing his pain in the lines around his eyes and the crease in his forehead. "Dean, I know you're in pain. Don't be a stubborn ass."

"You know that crap makes me sick. Quit trying to shove it down my throat!" Dean shouted hoarsely, his hand going to the wound on his neck as the stitches pulled. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

"Fine," Sam snapped, slamming his dishes onto the tray. "You're way past crabby now, jerk. I've had about enough of your attitude." Grabbing the tray, he stormed out of the room.

Missouri met him in the kitchen, taking the tray from his hands.

"God, why is he such an idiot?" Sam complained. "I'm trying to take care of him and he's just got to make it so hard."

"Sam, it's not easy for him either. He hates that you have to see him like this," Missouri explained. "He's used to being the strong one."

Sam considered her words before nodding in acceptance. "But if it was me, he'd force the pills down my throat," he mumbled.

Missouri sighed. "You're his little brother. He'll always take better care of you than he does himself. There's no sense in trying to make him take those pills. You'll just end up with hard feelings on both sides. So, do you want to complain or do you want to do something for your brother?"

It was Sam's turn to sigh. "Of course I want to help him. Not that he'll appreciate it."

"Oh, I think he'll appreciate this a lot," Missouri assured him. She set the tray on the counter and rummaged under the sink. Sam looked at her in confusion as she handed him a bucket of cleaning supplies. "For the car," she clarified.

Sam stared at her, then his face broke into a smile. Dean hadn't thought to ask about the car yet, but he definitely would eventually. To be able to say that he'd spent hours scrubbing the blood out… that would be worth a lot to his brother; or from his brother, he corrected his thought with a grin, grabbing the supplies and heading to the garage.

Missouri watched him go before pouring a glass of water. She stopped in the bathroom for Tylenol before walking into the guest room.

Dean was lying on the bed with his good arm across his eyes. She could sense his pain and see it in the set of his jaw, but she fought the urge to take him in her arms. She knew that awake he'd be less receptive to her comfort. Instead she cleared her throat as she crossed to the bed.

He winced as he quickly pulled his arm away and looked at her. Missouri was shocked by the resignation in his face and his thoughts; he expected another round of verbal sparring, for her to take shots at him like she had during his last visit.

"Oh, honey," she said gently, "I'm not going to mess with you." She ran a hand through his hair and smiled when, in his confusion, he let her. "I didn't mean half those things, Dean. You were so upset and trying so hard to hold together. I just wanted to knock you off balance, to keep your mind off everything else."

Dean eyed her suspiciously before accepting her words as true. Missouri smiled wryly to herself. He was a lot less trusting than his little brother.

"Dean," she began, "I know you're in pain…"

"I'm not taking any more of those pills," he interrupted.

"You know, Sam is an adult. He can take care of things while you heal."

Dean sighed. "That's not it. I mean, yeah, you can see in my head so you know I hate this, but I hate the way the pills make me feel too." He looked at her imploringly, and she felt the truth in his words.

"Take these instead." She handed him the pills in her hand. "Tylenol," she explained, helping him sit up, trying not to be offended when he studied the pills before popping them in his mouth.

"Thanks," Dean said, taking the offered water. "Where's Sam?"

"He's trying to earn brownie points cleaning out the car," Missouri laughed, "but don't let on that I told you." Her smile faded when Dean didn't even crack a smile. She could sense the turmoil of his thoughts, and reached out to place her hand on his arm.

"Not everything is about what happened in the asylum, Dean. Although he does blame himself for that – for not being strong enough to fight the spirit off. He blames himself for Netawaka too, both times."

"That's just stupid," Dean muttered. "Netawaka was my fault."

Missouri wanted to point out that there was a third Winchester who was responsible for all three incidents, but she knew Dean wouldn't hear accusations against his father. Instead she helped him to adjust the pillows so that he could sit more comfortably, steering the conversation in a different direction.

"Blame isn't important, Dean, but you really need to talk to your brother."

Dean shook his head. "I don't do warm, fuzzy moments."

Another stubborn Winchester, Missouri thought to herself. Out loud she responded, "I know you love your brother, and I know he loves you too, but you can't let things fester."

Dean snorted, "I'm not the one shooting people in the chest with rock salt then trying to blow their head off." The words were casually sarcastic, but Missouri could feel the underlying pain and doubt.

"Dean Winchester," she exclaimed. "Stop being stubborn. That boy loves you, and he'd never hurt you if he was in his right mind. Yes, he resents you sometimes, but you know you resent him too. Dean, think about it. You're the big brother, but in lots of ways you're the parent too. Your father isn't around to be the target, so it falls to you."

Seeing realization on his face, Missouri decided to end the lecture. "It doesn't have to be 'warm and fuzzy,' just talk to your brother, okay?"

"Okay," Dean agreed reluctantly. He paused, and Missouri tensed, following his thoughts. "Missouri, can I ask you something?"

Telling herself that she'd already chosen her allegiance, Missouri only took a moment to answer. "Of course."

"Was my father here?" Dean asked hesitantly, his eyes on the pill vial on the nightstand.

"Yes, he was," Missouri answered simply.

"Recently?" Dean asked in a strangled voice.

"Yes."

"Is he okay? Does he know what happened to us?"

"He's fine, Dean. He's still hunting for your mother's killer. And yes, he knows about Netawaka." Missouri struggled to keep her voice neutral, but knew she had failed when Dean's eyes shot up to meet hers.

"He knew we were coming here, didn't he? And he didn't stay." Missouri was almost knocked over by the pain and abandonment in his eyes and voice.

Sitting down on the bed, she pulled him gently into her arms. "Oh, honey, I don't know why your father couldn't stay," she answered truthfully. "But I do know that he loves you very much, and he's so proud of you, Dean."

He drew a shuddering breath and rested his head on her shoulder. Missouri drew him closer, rubbing his back. "It's okay to let go. You don't have to be strong for me."

Dean accepted her comfort for a moment before lifting his head. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry.

"I can't," he told her. "If I start I might not get control again. I have to stay strong – our lives might depend on it." He pulled away, lying back on the pillows.

"Okay, sweetie," Missouri nodded. "I suppose I understand, even if I don't agree. But will you at least stay here and let me help you and Sam until you're back on your feet?"

Dean eyed her, considering. "Why'd you let us come here, anyway?" he asked. "You must know that it could be dangerous for you. People that get too close to us have a tendency to die."

Missouri could sense genuine concern for her, and was touched. "I knew the danger," she admitted. "But you boys are special to me somehow. I feel closer to you than my own flesh and blood." She paused a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. "I won't lie to you, Dean. I'm not old enough or crazy enough to say I don't care if I die, but you need to know that I understand the risk. If anything should happen to me, it is not your fault, yours or Sam's."

Dean's eyes were troubled, but he nodded, acknowledging her words. His thoughts went back to his father and the perceived betrayal, but he didn't speak.

"Why don't you try to rest," Missouri suggested, stroking his hair again, pleased when he didn't pull away. She pulled the chair closer and settled in, running her fingers through his hair and humming softly.

Dean's eyes opened. "Don't you know any Metallica?"

"Don't try my patience, boy," Missouri told him in mock anger. She was gratified when he laughed out loud before allowing his eyes to slide shut.

**TBC**


	8. Safe at Home

**Title:You're Not Alone**

**Author: NobdyPtclr**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thank you again to all that have reviewed. The reviews are all that kept me going on this, as vicious writer's block set in. I'm still not thrilled with this chapter, but I guess it's time to let it go.**

**Chapter 8: Safe at Home**

Sam spent over an hour detailing the Impala, working till he was sure that even Dean would be satisfied with the result. Basking in his success, he went back to the house to check on his brother. Stopping in the doorway to the guest room, his mouth dropped open in surprise to see Missouri sitting by the bed stroking his brother's hair as she hummed to him.

Recovering quickly, Sam stepped into the room. "You know, he'd never let you do that if he was awake," he smirked.

Missouri smiled to herself but didn't answer. Standing up, she put a finger to her lips and led Sam out of the room before speaking. "How did you make out?"

Sam smiled. "It looks like new," he told her proudly. "I put the bucket back under the sink."

"That's great, Sam," Missouri returned the smile. "You know he'll be asking about the car."

"Is there anything I can do to help you out?" Sam asked, leaning in the doorway.

"Actually, I have a client coming in about fifteen minutes. She's a regular, so I didn't feel right cancelling on short notice," she hurried to explain. "I was hoping you could sit with your brother until I'm done, then we'll see about lunch."

"No problem," Sam responded. "And I don't want you to feel like you can't work while we're here. We'll stay quiet and out of sight."

"Thanks, Sam, but it's just one this morning and one this afternoon at two, then I'll take a couple days off." She didn't explain that the appointments were sometimes draining and she'd rather save her strength for 'her' boys.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, so long as we're not in the way."

Missouri smiled, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "Never."

She led him upstairs to her room, showing him a small bookcase."I thought you might want something to keep you busy. Any of these books can give you some of the answers you're looking for." The shelves were stuffed with titles on meditation, psychic powers and unlocking psychic potential. Sam skimmed the titles before pulling a paperback from the end of the top shelf. He quirked an eyebrow at Missouri, holding up _Montana Sky_, a book by Nora Roberts.

Missouri laughed. "Okay, maybe not that one."

Echoing her laughter, Sam selected a different book at random. As he stood up they heard the doorbell ring. Missouri preceded him down the stairs and hurried to the door. As he ducked into the guest room he heard her greet her client.

"Good morning, Patty. Why don't you go right into the sitting room. I have family visiting; I'll just check on them and put the water on for tea."

Sam smiled, feeling warmth steal over him at her words as he settled in the chair by the bed. The doorbell had woken his brother, and Dean looked at him, rolling his eyes at the sappy expression on his face.

Missouri popped her head in. "Do you boys need anything before I start?"

"No ma'am," Sam answered, and Dean shook his head.

"Okay. I'll be about an hour." She disappeared toward the kitchen.

Sam wasn't anxious to get in another argument with his brother, so he focused on the book in his hands, _The Psychic in You_ by Jeffrey Wands. As he opened the cover and started to read he could feel Dean's eyes on him.

"Sammy," Dean spoke hesitantly, with no sign of his earlier attitude in his voice. "I don't think I can manage moving over, but why don't you come around and sit on the bed. It'd be a lot more comfortable."

Recognizing this as being as close to an apology as Dean was likely to give, Sam accepted without comment, kicking off his shoes and adjusting the pillow before lowering himself gently onto the bed to avoid jostling his brother.

"Listen," Dean began, then fell silent. Sam watched him struggle, searching for the right words, and finally bailed him out with a sigh.

"Don't worry about this morning. I'd be crabby too if it was me that got all ripped up." He would never understand why Dean had such a hard time apologizing, but he accepted it as one of his brother's less-charming personality quirks.

"No Sammy," Dean tried again, "that's not it. I mean, yeah, I'm sorry for that, but I…" he cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for listening to Missouri, but forcing himself to continue. "I wanted to make sure you know it wasn't your fault."

"Huh?" Sam felt like his brain had shut down after he heard the words 'I'm sorry' come out of his brother's mouth.

"Netawaka," Dean clarified. "It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have gone after that demon like that."

Dean wasn't looking at him, but Sam couldn't tell if it was intentional or if the stitches in his neck were preventing him from tuning his head. Moving further down the bed he forced eye contact before responding.

"Dean, I should have moved faster. I heard you yell and I tried to help, but I froze for a sec and the guy tripped me up."

"Listen, Sammy, you were great. You saved my ass. I'm the one that messed up." Dean broke eye contact, staring at the comforter. "I saw that kid and it was like I was eleven again. For a minute I thought he was you. Then I didn't think; I just ran in like an idiot." He closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of seven year-old Sam being attacked and to block his brother from seeing his emotions.

Sam lifted his hand and searched for an unbandaged part of his brother to pat reassuringly. He finally settled on a knee. "You saved that kid's life. That's nothing to be ashamed about; just like you saved mine fifteen years ago." He settled back into his original position, propping himself on his pillow. Some things were easier to say without eye contact. "Dean, those things that I said to you at the asylum," he started tentatively, "I really didn't mean them. You know the Doctor blew everything out of proportion, right?"

Dean sighed. He really was trying to take Missouri's advice and talk to his brother, but it was just as hard as he'd expected. Fighting his urge to brush Sam off, he tried to balance the truth and his desire not to hurt his little brother. "Sammy, I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt me, but you can't understand how it felt to hear those words coming out of your mouth. You called me pathetic, for christsake," Dean pointed out, wincing at the memory. "Even knowing you weren't responsible, that still came from your mind somewhere."

After carefully weighing his options, Sam decided to put all his cards on the table. "I understand more than you know. Remember 'Shapeshifter-Dean'? He didn't just steal your looks; he had your feelings and your memories too. He told me you have lots of issue with me."

Dean laced his good hand over the bandage on his neck, trying to turn and face his brother. "Sammy, come back where I can see you. Why didn't you say anything before?"

Sitting up, he met his big brother's eyes again and explained, "I didn't need to. Even if it's true it doesn't matter. Look at all the times you've been there for me. You got on that plane so I wouldn't have to go alone, you went back to our old house and you saved me from that poltergeist. For God's sake, Dean, you shot the window out of your _car_ for me." They both smirked a little at that, and Sam took a deep breath before continuing. "You know what feels worse than you thinking I meant that stuff?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That I must not have done anything to make you realize that no matter how much I resent you, you're still my brother and I'd die for you." Sam looked away, ashamed, as tears filled his eyes.

"Sammy, don't. Please." Dean reached awkwardly with his good arm and pulled his brother into a loose embrace. "It's not your fault; none of it." He held Sam close, in spite of the pain it caused, until his breathing went back to normal. "Dude, you're crushing me," he complained lightly, breaking the tension. "And that's used up your quota of chick-flick moments for at least six months," he smirked.

Sam laughed, mostly in relief, as he lay back on the pillow. He felt like a weight had lifted off his chest. "Get some rest, Jerk. You're supposed to be recovering, not partying."

"Can you grab the aspirin out of my bag before you get comfortable?" Dean asked.

Sam heard the pain in his voice and scrambled to get the pills. Providing them with a chaser of water from the glass on the nightstand, he busied himself straightening the blankets until Dean shooed him away.

"Get back on the bed and relax. You look like shit, man."

Sam cuffed his brother on the side of the head before lying back down. "Dope."

"Geek," Dean responded with a smile. His stitches were tight and his body ached, but he closed his eyes as a feeling of contentment stole over him. Of course Sammy would leave him eventually – everyone did – but for now everything was good. The fear that had been growing since the asylum of him walking out the door at any minute was gone.

Sam watched over his brother until his breathing evened out and he relaxed in sleep, before picking up his book again. He looked at it in his hand and laid it aside, settling lower on the bed and closing his eyes. He turned his back to Dean, leaning against him gently so he'd feel movement if his brother woke up. A sense of comfort and security lulled him to sleep as well.

Missouri peeked into the guest room one last time before pulling the door mostly shut. She didn't allow it to close completely, fearing that even so small a sound would wake the brothers. She had finished with her first visitor, enjoyed her own lunch, and puttered quietly around the house, and still the boys slept. Missouri made her way to the front porch, planning to intercept her two o'clock appointment before they could ring the doorbell.

Sitting on the steps, she pulled her light sweater tighter around herself at the unexpected chill. The weather had been relatively mild all week, and she was surprised as the cold increased. Surprise turned to fear and anticipation as she got the sense of something or someone trying to communicate with her, a presence that did not seem entirely friendly. Looking around, she couldn't see anyone or anything unusual so she closed her eyes and let her mind search for the elusive contact.

"Missouri!" A voice called out.

The cold receded as quickly as it had come, and she looked up to see her appointment striding up the walkway. Hesitating for a moment, she tried to reach out with her mind once more for the otherworldly presence, but was unsuccessful. Shaking her head, Missouri climbed to her feet, reminding herself that while she certainly was a powerful psychic, she was not a medium. Sensing energies was one thing; communicating with them was a different story. She pushed the experience out of her mind and stepped forward to greet her client.

Sylvia Dawkins was really more than just a client; she was also a good friend. They had met five years earlier when Sylvia came for a reading, and an instant bond had formed. Sylvia still maintained a monthly appointment, but the women usually got together once a week for tea-and-talk sessions. This visit happened to be business, but Missouri headed for the kitchen to start tea, as she often did for longstanding clients.

"Keep your voice down, Sylvia," she cautioned. "I have guests sleeping in the back room."

Sylvia cocked an eyebrow, but didn't speak as she followed her hostess to the kitchen. It wasn't until the drinks were poured and they had settled in the sitting room that she asked her question.

"Is it your son?"

Missouri shook her head sadly. "No, it's not Michael. If it wasn't for his wife's letters I wouldn't hear from them at all." She sighed, remembering the arguments after her husband Tom's heart attack and resultant death. Michael had called her an embarrassment to the family and insisted that her psychic nonsense had caused the stress that had ultimately killed his father. The knowledge that Tom had supported her fully and was proud of her ability to help people was all that kept her going after Michael had attacked her with his hurtful words and stormed out, vowing never to come back. She felt lucky that his wife was more understanding and sent the occasional note with pictures of her grandchildren.

Missouri realized she'd been woolgathering when Sylvia patted her arm sympathetically. "I'm sorry to bring him up," she said softly, "but I hoped that things had changed. I just couldn't think of who else it could be." Sylvia knew about her estrangement from her family, and her face reflected Missouri's own pain.

"It's okay, Sylvia." Missouri gave her friend a reassuring smile. "The boys back there are like family to me. They couldn't mean more to me even if they were blood kin." She laughed as Sylvia eyed her expectantly. "Their father is an old friend, so when one of them got hurt and they needed a place to stay, I was happy to help."

"Are they local? Do I know the family? Where is their father? Why isn't he taking care of them?" The questions poured out of Sylvia's mouth and they both laughed.

Missouri tried to answer all the questions without providing too much information about the Winchester family. "They don't live around here, they just happened to be in the area, so I'm sure you don't know the family. Their father visits sometimes but, before this year, I hadn't seen the boys in a very long time. I suppose they're really young men, old enough to be on their own, which is good since their father is away on business a lot." She finished and looked pointedly at her friend. "Now, I think we have business of our own."

Sylvia accepted the redirection without question or complaint. She understood Missouri's desire for privacy – it had never gotten in the way of their friendship in the past, and it certainly wouldn't now. She leaned forward in her chair and changed the subject.

"Billy's not sure about the colleges he's applying to…"

Missouri settled back, giving her client her full attention, and the women talked for well over an hour.

When she walked Sylvia to the door, Missouri stepped out onto the porch behind her and waited for her friend to walk out of the yard before reaching out with her mind, searching for the presence that she had sensed earlier. After a few minutes of concentration she gave up, sighing in a combination of disappointment and relief. While she was curious to discover what or who had been trying to reach her, she was not anxious to tangle with an unfriendly spirit. The wards that she had put up inside the house should protect against unwelcome spirits entering, but they didn't extend outside. She shivered at the memory of the cold and stepped quickly into the safety of her home.

**TBC**

**A/N: Sorry if this was too much Missouri for anyone – I thought she deserved some attention, but then I had a hard time writing it. We're into the home stretch. One or two more chapters, maybe an unanswered question or two for a sequel, if I'm so inclined. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!**


	9. Back on the Road

**Chapter Nine: Back to Work**

The boys had almost five full days of relative peace at Missouri's house. Sam spent much of his free time looking through Missouri's library and talking with her about her experiences with her power. Dean, when he was not resting, discovered that his car was clean and set out to clean and repair their weapons and supplies.

They didn't talk about it but, as Dean mended and Sam learned, they developed a feeling of contentment and even safety. Missouri watched them both and felt her own satisfaction grow; she was thrilled to have family in the house again, and she could tell the boys were happy too.

All of them were taken by surprise when, during lunch on the fifth day, Dean's cell phone rang. Dean got up slowly and went to find his phone. He kicked himself mentally, angry at his own reluctance. Grabbing the phone, he opened it and found a set of coordinates on the screen. Pushing away the disappointment, he reminded himself that they had a job to do. They had obviously been idle too long. They were getting used to a somewhat normal life – a life that was never meant to be theirs.

In spite of this conviction, Dean had trouble meeting his brother's eyes when he returned to the kitchen.

Sam watched his brother for a minute. When Dean didn't speak, he asked, "Who was it?"

Hearing the resignation in his voice, Missouri looked at them both. Although it was an answer she expected, her heart sank at Dean's words.

"It's Dad. Coordinates."

Sam sighed, pushing away from the table. "Finish eating. I'll go pack."

"I'll help, Sammy."

"No," Sam shook his head. "You're still hurting. I'll bring you the laptop. You can look it up while I get our stuff together." He started across the room.

"Wait. You don't have to go." The words were out before Missouri could stop them. Sam froze in the doorway. His back stiffened, but he didn't turn around. Dean sat, staring at the table.

"I'm sorry." Missouri started over, trying to get rid of the sudden tension in the room. "You know I won't try to stop you. I just don't want you to go rushing off before you're ready. I don't want either of you to get hurt." She didn't even want to consider her own hurt. She had known this day would come, and she didn't doubt that the boys would respond to their father's message. Once again she found herself mentally cursing John Winchester for his callousness. While she didn't have any grounds for her suspicion, she couldn't shake the belief that this was one of John's little games. He had allowed five days of rest and recovery, but wouldn't let the boys get too comfortable. This was his punishment for her actions and comments – letting her get close to the boys, then stealing them away, reminding her that they were _his_ sons and their first loyalty would always be to him. She couldn't fight that.

Sam sighed, turning back to face her. He knew it was too much to expect Dean to handle this – Captain Tact would probably just make the situation more tense.

"Missouri, we have to go. We can't just sit back and let a chance to find Dad pass us by." He met her eyes and silently pleaded for understanding. "If we miss this one, there might not be another."

"I understand," she told him, trying to give the reassurance that he needed Realizing that arguing would just drive the boys away, Missouri decided to give in easily even as she kicked herself for her own weakness. "You boys do what you have to do, and know you're welcome back her anytime."

Sam nodded and disappeared down the hall. He returned with the laptop, then went back to the bedroom to pack.

Dean made no move to open the laptop. He sat, staring at his hands, and Missouri could feel the turmoil of his thoughts.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Dean," she told him softly. "There's no shame in enjoying a normal life for a little while."

Dean sighed, shaking his head, and pulled the laptop across the table. "I got too comfortable; forgot about the dangers, forgot about what's important, broke Dad's rules." His face hardened in determination. "Time to get back to work."

Missouri watched him pull up information on the laptop for a minute then set about putting together a snack for the boys to take with them. She could sense Dean pulling away, distancing himself from her, but she couldn't think of anything to say to make him stop. John Winchester had taught his older son to be blindly loyal, and had also passed on his stubbornness. Now Dean was convinced that he had been disloyal – in thoughts if not by actions – and he was closing himself off emotionally in self-punishment.

As she reached to collect the lunch dishes from the table, Missouri rested her hand briefly on his shoulder. She sighed in frustration when he stiffened at the touch, but moved away quickly without comment to give him his space. She was almost relieved when Sam returned with their bags.

"Michigan," Dean said simply. "Lake Superior." He closed the laptop and pushed it away, still not looking at either of them. "You can figure it out while I drive."

Sam opened his mouth to object, but closed it and nodded abruptly as he muscled their bags through the kitchen and out the door.

Missouri set a bag of sandwiches on the table and moved back to the dishes in the sink. She struggled with her feelings. She was afraid for the boys, that they were once again being forced on the road before they were ready. She didn't want to acknowledge her other fear – it seemed too selfish. She had gotten used to having the boys there and, in spite of all of her insistences to herself that she would be able to let go when the time came, she was afraid of how empty the house would feel again without them.

Dropping the plate she was holding back into the sink, Missouri stared at her hands, willing her feelings back under control. She jumped when Dean spoke behind her.

"I'm sorry."

She turned and met his eyes, seeing his anger at himself and his determination, but it was coupled with understanding. Missouri marveled that he could close off his own emotions so thoroughly yet still be aware of other people's. She wondered if it was because of the years he'd spent taking care of Sam, if it was his brother who had helped him to hang on to his humanity. Or, maybe it was because he was used to being the one who was left behind.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "You just take care of yourself and Sam. And let him take care of you too." She picked up the laptop and the bag of food. "I'll take these out while you get those filthy guns of yours out of my house," she said, smiling. She felt strangely gratified when Dean gave her a small smile in return before going to collect the shotguns.

Sam had pulled the car out into the driveway and was standing on the driver's side as they came out the door. Missouri gave Dean a quick one-armed hug as he passed her with a shotgun in each hand. He didn't respond, but she hadn't expected him to, and just accepted the warmth of his feelings for her as he walked to the car.

Tossing the weapons in the trunk, Dean brushed past his brother to stand by the open door. He turned to look at her with a grin on his face as Sam sighed dramatically and threw his hands up in the air before walking around to the passenger's side.

Missouri handed Sam the laptop and sandwiches before wrapping him up in her arms, unsurprised when he responded in kind. Releasing him, she stepped back and looked at them both.

"You boys take care of each other," she told them emphatically, "and come back when you can."

Dean gave a small wave before lowering himself into the Impala.

Sam smiled. "Take care, Missouri. I don't think we can ever thank you enough…"

She patted his cheek. "Family doesn't have to say thank you."

His smile widened as he turned away to open the door. He looked back at her as he climbed in. "We'll see you soon."

Missouri followed them as Dean backed out, walking to the end of the driveway to watch until the car was out of sight.

Climbing her front steps, she found herself reluctant to go back into the now-empty house and instead sat down on the stoop. Lost in thought, she didn't notice the approaching figure until he stood at the bottom of the steps.

"I have nothing to say to you right now," she snapped.

John Winchester sighed, and she steeled herself against the resignation and sadness in his face and thoughts. He'd brought this on himself.

"Can you just tell me if my boys are okay?" he asked hesitantly, making no move to come any closer.

"Why don't you ask them yourself?"

"I've told you – it isn't safe," he responded with another sigh.

"John, you've just sent them off on another wild goose chase. They weren't ready, but they went anyway because they keep hoping that one of your messages is going to lead them to you. And yet, five minutes after they leave, here you are." Missouri shook her head in disgust.

"Missouri, I can't explain it all, but you have to believe me when I tell you it's for their protection," he implored, taking a step toward her.

"I'm not the one you owe the explanation to," Missouri pointed out, climbing to her feet. "In fact, I don't think I'm interested in anything you have to say."

Turning away, she let herself into the house and closed the door between them.

The End (for now?)

**A/N: Thank you again to everyone for the reviews! I realize that there is at least one loose end - what did Missouri sense outside her house? I'm planning to write a sequel if there's interest (shamelessly pleads for reviews), but knowing that my job will be crazy for the next few weeks I thought it was best to wrap this up now. I have ideas for a couple of one-shots that may get done in the next few days, but no more multi-chapter stories till late February.**


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